


Riding Lessons

by inkyopolis



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Cheating, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, In a way, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Roleplay, Roleswap, Rough Oral Sex, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyopolis/pseuds/inkyopolis
Summary: Your name is HORUSS ZAHHAK and you’re pretty sure that your boyfriend, RUFIOH NITRAM, is about to DUMP YOU. But then--what incredible luck--a highblood acquaintance overhears your sadneighs and offers to help you troubleshoot your failing relationship!‘The first step,’he suggests, unlit cigarette bouncing up and down between his fingers,‘is to overhaul your technique in the bedroom.’





	Riding Lessons

 Your name is HORUSS ZAHHAK and you’re pretty sure that your boyfriend, RUFIOH NITRAM is about to DUMP YOU. Thankfully, you’ve been able to MANAGE this situation so far by FLEEING anytime that the subject of your RELATIONSHIP comes up.

And that’s how you found yourself sitting on a bench at the park, looking out over the pond. 

Rufioh tried to bring up your matespritship over lunch. Thinking on your hooves, you’d managed to convince Rufioh that you had a meeting with someone you just plum forgot to mention. “Oh fiddlesticks! Just my bad memory acting up again!” you had laughed and practically galloped out the door. It was a ruse, of course. Your thinkpan is one of your STRONGEST parts.

Part of you feels bad about lying. But then you remind yourself, ‘ _If you don’t let bad things happen, then there’s no reason you’ll ever have to feel sad!_ ’ So yes, maybe lying to your boyfriend is a bit of a bad thing. But the consequences of not doing it would be _even worse_.

You look out over the water. It’s so flat and calm, the sun reflecting off it so bright and cheerful.

‘ _It must be nice to be a lake,_ ’ you think.

And then… there’s some kind of wetness inside the goggles attached to your headgear? You slide them up and rub your face and… oh, you’re crying.

You take a slow, hitching breathe in, trying to keep yourself steady. You work so hard to not feel sad, pushing every negative feeling down, down, down in your body, until you’re walking on them. But sometimes, they spring back on you, too strong, even for you.

Leaves crunch and you scramble to get your goggles back down.

“Hey there chief, I couldn’t help but notice that you, uh..”

You put on your biggest smile while trying to subtly wipe your wet hand on your pants. “Oh, hello there Cronus! I hope I didn’t disrupt you with my whinnying.”

Cronus shrugs, “Nah, I was just out on stroll ya know, taking in the sights and sounds.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, gives in a squeeze. “You, uh… you okay?”

You flush with embarrassment. “I’m uh... “ You pause, running a hand across the nape of your neck. “I’m just HAPPY AS A CLAMBEAST!” you blurt.

“Uh… you sure there? I mean… you know…” He pauses, giving your shoulder a friendly massage. “You can talk to me.”

You’re not usually one for pale comfort, but his touch is soothing. The straps on your headgear clink as you look around the park, gauging your privacy. “I hate to bother a highblood with my petty problems.”

“S’no problem at all chief.” He smiles.

You swallow.  “I think ...Rufioh wants to” you drop your voice to a low-whisper, “... to leave me.”

“What? No...I’m sure that’s not right.”

“I’d bet boonbucks to carrots,” you admit, shame hanging your head heavy.

“But has he dumped you yet?” Cronus asks, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. Is he… papping you?

And it’s like an exorcism in his touch, compelling the demon truth out of you. “No… not exactly. He’s tried I think. But I just start blurting out things out so he can’t or get up and walk away so he doesn’t...” you don’t even get the sentence out before another shameful sob escapes your mouth.

“Shhh-shh-shh,” he paps, “But… he’s not dumped you yet. Which means, you have time to change things?”

You sniffle, remove your goggles and wipes his sullen eyes with the back of your jacket sleeve. “But… what can I change?”

Cronus thinks for a second. “Well… based on _my_ experience, relationships tend to go south because someone’s not satisfied in the bedroom. So tell me--are you feeling satisfied?”

Your cheeks burn as you think about your bedroom entanglements, “I… I am satisfied yes.”

“Sure, _you_ are. But do you think ol’ Ruf would describe it as the best bangin’ of his whole life?”

You swallow. “That is…  graphic.”

“We’re tryin’ to save your relationship here chief.”

“Rufioh’s always seemed… satisfied.”

“Just ‘satisfied’? Look, I’m gonna shoot straight with you here. I’m kind of a casanova, so let me tell you: If your response ain’t anything but ‘best bangin’ of my whole life, it’s no wonder he’s looking to split.’

“Rufioh has never communicated dissatisfaction with our pailing before…” you say. And it’s true. But… has he ever communicated anything one way or another?  

“Well yeah, I mean, guys like him aren’t gonna come right out and say it. But let me ask you this. Is he tryin’ to get with you each and every night?”

You think about it, and it is true. Rufioh doesn’t want to pail _every_ night. But… you thought… that was normal? A sickly sense of shame fills your body. Maybe Cronus is right. Maybe you have been failing your matesprite. Maybe you haven’t been living up to his needs. And Rufioh isn’t exactly the kind of troll to just come out and say it… It’s all starting to make sense now. You take a deep breath in, and admit, “No, he doesn’t.”

Cronus looks away, as if embarrassed for you. “I hate to say it, but … maybe the dessert you’re putting out ain’t that sweet.”

You feel so dumb. What a big, dumb, stupid hoofbeast you are. “What can I do better?” you beg.

“The first step,” he suggests, unlit cigarette bouncing up and down between his fingers, “is to overhaul your technique in the bedroom.”

“How do I do that?”

Cronus puts his hand on his chin, as if philosophizing. Pauses. “Well... “ he begins, “If I really want to troubleshoot this for you, I need to see you in action.”

“In action?” you ask, perplexed.

“I mean, yeah. That way I can give you some pointers on what you might be doin’ wrong.”

You blink. “You mean... you and I should pail?”

Cronus raises his hands defensively. “Only in the interest of helping you stay with Rufioh. Of course.”

You break out the scale in your head. Pailing with someone else while still flushed with Rufioh with might be a bad idea…. But…. what if it saves your matespritship? Wouldn’t it make you (and maybe even Rufioh) happier in the long run? And wouldn’t that outweigh the negative? And, well, it’s not like you would have to necessarily _tell_ Rufioh that you’d pailed with someone else.

But, you realize, this isn’t necessarily just about you and Rufioh. You look up at Cronus,  “Won’t that, disrupt your quadrants?”

Cronus stiffens up and clears his throat. “Well… I’m shuffling the deck on my quads right now, and so you know, I’m not red with anyone _specifically_ … I mean,” he pauses, thinking it over, adds, “I don’t really like to be held down by any one troll, you know? A little pale here, a little pitch there. Variety is the spice of life, that’s the Ampora motto y’know.”

He takes your chin in his hand, gently caressing the pap glands under your jawline, causing cascade of calmative endorphins to course through your system.

“And besides,” he continues, “it would be my personal honor to help you out with this. Help you both out in fact. That’s what I’m doing really with this offer. Helping you both.”   

‘ _A personal honor? A highblood helping **me** would be a personal honor?_ ’ You are gobsmacked. ‘ _The good-luck hoofbeast shoe above my door is really working today_.’ “Thank you,” you knicker. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

The corners of Cronus’s mouth turn up in a wide, toothy smile. “Don’t mention it chief. Now whattya say we head back to my digs?”

\---***---

Cronus’s hive is… well, you don’t like to speak ill of your betters, but there’s an awful lot of things here! Human things! Overflowing on every conceivable surface! Posters of human men in leather jackets with large shiny hair scotch-taped to the wall. Pictures of large and inefficient metal combustion machines cover the eating surfaces. Advertisements ripped out of magazines for things called “Marlboros” and “Camels” spread out over the floor. Clothes are _everywhere_.

‘ _He must be so busy with important highblood things that he can’t properly care for his own physical space,_ ’ you think. ‘ _What sacrifice._ ’

Cronus throws his keys onto the floor, sending an errant advertisement skittering. “Well chief,” he looks you over from toes to tip, “we should probably get down to business.”

You blink. He’s staring at you. Like… he’s… expecting something? You smile, tap your fingers together. You can feel little beads of sweat starting to form on your lower back. “Uhhh….” you say.

“Oh chief…” Cronus sighs. “You’re not nervous are you?”

“No no. It’s just…” ‘ _It’s just what?_ ’ you search for a way to answer that doesn’t make you look like a muley dope, but you can’t quite muster one.

He walks over, runs a small, delicate hand over your chest. It’s pristine, unmarked by the calluses of work. So much nicer than yours. You swallow. Already you are a thermometer, the mercury boiling over.

“I… am… a little nervous,” you finally manage to spit out.

Cronus gives you a warm smile. He looks confident, radiant. A curative gaze for that vibrating string of hesitation playing in your belly.

He nods his head slowly. “So lesson one: That’s probably half your problem in the sack. Guys like Rufioh, they want someone to sweep them off their feet you know? Take charge. And you--you’ve gotta know what you want. So here’s what we’re gonna do for this next little bit. I’m gonna pretend to be you, and you’ll be Rufioh. Okay?”

You nod, eager. You’re not sure that you could entirely forget the hemo-discrepancy, but you will try your best! Afterall, you know how to role-play from your many equestrian larps!

“Lose the jacket… Rufioh,” he croons.

Your hands are shaking just a little as you undo the clasps on your brown leather top. You wriggle your way out of it, left with nothing but the black tank-top you wear underneath. You are positive that it’s soaked with sweat at this point. But Cronus doesn’t seem to notice? In fact, he’s letting out a noise of… contentment? From watching you?

“The undershirt too.”

Rufioh sometimes has you do this--take off your clothes for his inspection. But as you are higher on the hemospectrum than he, it feels like it has a much different character. Rufioh’s _admiring_ you. Cronus is probably just _inspecting_ you to make sure you aren’t physically deficient. To make sure he’s not defiling himself too badly.

He lets off a long, content sigh as you pull the tanktop up over your headgear.

“You know Ruf,” he offers, “if I had a body like yours, I wouldn’t be covering it up with those bulky clothes.”

‘ _Complemented by a violet-blood,_ ’ you think. You are positively apple-cheeked. “That’s very… um.. Nice of you,” you offer, tossing your garment to the floor. “Uh… Horuss,” you add, trying to remember who you are.

“You,” Cronus leans forward and grabs both your pecs, squeezing them roughly in his hands, “have got some nice puppies right here.”

You smile, confused as Cronus works you in concentric circles. ‘ _What do yipbeasts have to do with this?_ ’ you wonder. ‘ _Must be highblood parlance.’_

“Fuck these are _gorgeous_ ,” he murmurs. He leans in, mouth agape, and takes your nipple in. And _fiddlesticks_ if the suckiling doesn’t make your knees go a bit weak. You let out a low moan and put a hand on the side of his head, some unconscious instinct inside telling you to pap him.

Sudden, sharp pain spikes through you. You cry out. He… nipped you! You are a MIGHTY hoofbeast, but even you have your vulnerable spots.

You look at him, questioning. “I should... bite Rufioh?”

Cronus waggles an eyebrow at you, flicks his tongue back and forth over your nip. He turns his head up, “Lesson numero two. Keep ‘em guessing.”

You look away, flustered.

“See how I’m makin’ you feel really good?” he asks.

Your words aren’t really coming along, so instead you just nod, half distracted by the throbbing in your chest. You’re not sure if you’ve ever felt your heartbeat in your nipple before.

“That’s what this is all about chief. Lesson number 3: You gotta make your boy feel good. Let ‘em know he’s appreciated. Tell him what you like about his body. Objectify ‘em you know? It’s all about charmin’ the pants off him so he’s gonna wanna do stuff for you. Also so his pants come off.”

You nod. That makes a lot of sense to you!

He’s grinning at you like he’s doped up on sopor-slime. “You’re a hot little number you know that? You’ve gotta a nice rack on ya. Wouldn’t spend mind spendin’ some time takin’ a little respite between those boys,” he admits, giving your already tender bosom a firm squeeze.

A chill runs down your spine. ‘ _This is quite effective!_ ’ you think.

He looks up into your face, “And you ain’t half bad lookin’ for a blueblood.”

‘But… I’m supposed to be Rufioh,’ you think. ‘And he’s not a blueblood.’ And it hits you.

 _Oh goodness_.

He darts his tongue between his lips, licks them, making them moist and shiny. “Now ya wanna kiss me?” He asks.

There’s a lump in your throat. “Y-yes,” you admit.

He leans forward and presses his face into yours, tongue pushing into your mouth. You close your eyes and lean into the kiss, your slickness gliding over his. And…. you try think about how Rufioh kisses. He’s tender and soft when he does it. So you try your best to be like that.

Cronus presses his body against yours, humps into your leg. You can feel his erection through his pants.

You are apparently doing something okay! 

Cronus pulls away with a wet smack, a sloppy string of saliva temporarily bridging your mouths.

He grins, wipes his mouth. “Could we maybe take off the headgear?” The corner of his mouth turns up, showing just a hint of an incisor. “I want to see your eyes when you suck my cock.”

A chill runs down your spine. This is... much more direct that you are used to.  “That is… quite vulgar,” you admit, face flushing as you undo the hitch on the back of your headgear. It’s feels so bright in the room when you take the goggles off. Everything feels overwhelming.

Cronus rolls his eyes, “Chief. You need to get over it. Okay lesson… six… seven? I dunno what we are on now, but here’s the lesson: Bein’ nasty is like…” he thinks for a second, “It’s like spice. You gotta make sure you aren’t just servin’ up bland meal after bland meal. And the best way to handle spice is just to pour it on. You get me?”

What he’s saying does make a certain amount of sense, you guess. But it feels so... _obscene_. And you don’t think you could ever be that vulgar with Rufioh. He’s so… kind. ‘ _Maybe that’s the problem,_ ’ you think. ‘ _Maybe my properness is getting in the way!_ ’

You the sound of zipping and then a _CLUNK_.

You blink and look down and… there he is. He is quite… at attention. Almost the same size as Rufioh, though maybe not as thick; a delicate nest of curls sitting at his base. He is... dripping. You feel a hand on your shoulder. It appears to be ushering you down. ‘ _Oh,_ ’ you think. ‘ _Oh._ ’

Cronus rubs your cheek as you get into position on your knees. Having a steady hand taking the reins and showing you the ropes like this, it feels kind of… nice? What a fortunate day this has turned out to be.

“Chief… you look so good right now. And you’re gonna look even better when I’m fucking your face.”

You start to say something, but he puts his hands on your head and chin, wedging open your mouth like a box of crackerjacks. There’s hardly a beat before he jams his cock into your muzzle. You wince, pursing your lips around him, and start to suck. You try to channel Rufioh, the way he runs his tongue along your underside, the gentle bobbing of his head back and forth, back and forth. Slow and steady. That’s how he does it.

“Look at me.”  
  
Your force your eyes upwards, looking up into a demented grin. And when he knows he has your full attention, he grabs you by the horns. _Fiddlefucksticks_ if you don’t feel your heartbeat in your hardening dick when does that. But the look only lasts a second. He hauls your skull forward, nearly giving you whiplash as he jams himself down your gullet.

You groan and gag around him.

He backs out a few inches, then jams himself into your face again, his balls slapping the underside of your chin. You try to swallow, try to suck in some air, but he rides your face hard, forcing himself deeper with each thrust. Saliva cakes the inside of your mouth, gumming up the works.

You try to pull back. You just want a second to compose yourself, to breathe. You’ve never done that to Rufioh, so you have no idea how he would react. You put your hands on his thighs, half to steady yourself, half to try to slow him down. But he gives you no pause. Your throat latch is  on fire. ‘ _Swallow, just swallow!_ ’, you try to tell yourself. Slobber leaks from the corner of your mouth. God you are making a mess. You’re such a mess of a troll. It’s no wonder things are falling apart.

You look up, trying to beg for a break with your eyes.

But there’s fire in his. Fire that says plain as day he’s not about to stop.

And _fucking fiddlefuckingsticks_ your cock is so goddamn hard.

“Come on chief, suck it _harder_ ,” he barks, hilting his highblood bulge to the base, his ballsack slapping wetly on your chin.

And you are trying, trying so hard to keep your lips sealed against him. Trying to tongue his underside. But your throat is filling with viscous spit, keeps clenching shut, and you can’t.. You just can’t…

You push his legs back with desperation, knocking him off. You gasp sweet, cool air. One breath, two.

Cronus’s face flushes with anger, “ _Fuck chief_ , I was gettin’ close! Lesson… _whatever_. **Don’t fuckin’ blue ball a guy like that!** ”

And… oh. Oh no. You really messed that up didn’t you? You’re so bad at this. Bad at being Rufioh. Bad at being you. You just… needed to stay a bit more positive there. “I’m… I’m sorry.” You mewl.

He groans and sucks in air, regaining some composure. “Okay, another hot lesson: Ya gotta tell ya boy when you expect a little more from him. And I _know_ you can do better than that. Now, I want you to open your mouth again.”

And you do. And in a tenth a second, he’s right back where he was. Slopper fills your orifice, and you’ve got no other choice than to just let it drool out the sides of your mouth as he thrusts into your face.

“Look at me,” he grunts through gritted teeth.

You turn your eyes up. They sting with sweat. Everything’s…. Everything’s getting a little blurry.

“You look so hot with my cock in your mouth. Aww fuck chief. _Aww FUCK!_ Gonna cum down your fucking throat. You want that don’t you? You want my cum?”

You make a whimpering sound. You so desperately want that. To be a highblood vessel. You somehow muster enough composure to take him down, down as far as you can, until your nose is buried in his pubic hair, until the world is nothing but heat and friction and burning.

“ _Fuck!! FUCK!!!_ ” he bellows.

The splash hits hard. Your throat muscles convulse, your face flaring red. _“Hrgh--”_ you gurgle, salt honey filling your esophagus. But you are STRONG, and you can MAKE yourself handle this.

Flotsam bubbles from the corners of your mouth.

He lets out a low, hitched breath as the fading bits of orgasm ooze down your gullet. When he slides himself out of your mouth, you suck in air greedily, putting out the fire.

You could really use a glass of milk right now.

“Not bad, not bad.” He croons, stroking the last bit of genetic material from his bulge. A glistening drop sits on the end of his cock-head. He catches you looking.

“Lick it up… Rufioh.” He grins.

You swallow, jaw sore. But… you are being offered something here. And who are you to refuse? Isn’t that what a matespritship is supposed to be? A display of dedication to each other?

Tongue numb, you cull the last bit of seed off him. Everything tastes like metal. You keep his eyes as you do it, showing how much you appreciate everything you’re learning.

He reaches down and runs tender fingers across your cheek, wiping away some of the mess on your face.

“Alright chief. That… that wasn’t too bad. So, your last lesson here: You gotta reward your man when he’s done good. And you did aight there. Why don’t you stand yourself up.”

Slowly, you bring yourself to your feet. Stars shoot in your vision as you come fully upright.

He laughs at you as you stumble. “See, that’s how you need to get him feelin’. Knocked off his feet.” He’s fiddling with the belt on your trousers as you try to get the world to stop spinning.

There’s a hand, down, digging under the elastic of your underweath.

Cronus’s eyes widen.

‘ _Oh._ ’ you think. You are obscenely hard right now. ‘ _Oh._ ’ “I, uh…” you stammer as he frees you from the confines of your fabric.

“Chiiiiief,” he draws it out as he slides the skin back and forth over your rigidness. His hand feels so warm. “You are are uh,” he cackles, “you are kind of big there.”

You tense. “I’m um, sorry.”

Cronus laughs as he bounces your cock up and down in his hand. Jegus, you are leaking all over him, can’t even help yourself.

“No no, it’s not a problem at all,” he says. “I can’t believe Rufioh would wanna give up _this_.” He bats your dick up and down, like a purrbeast playing with a ball of string. ”I was just gonna give you a nice heavy petting session, but fuck if I’m gonna let this thing go to waste.”

“Pardon?” you ask, not quite following.

“We’re putting that thing inside me chief.”

“Oh! I don’t usually, umm..” you stammer.

He looks at you, mouth agape. “Wait, you mean, you ain’t battering down Rufioh’s castle doors?”

“Uh, no… I usually recieve his uh--”

Cronus is incredulous. “You’re the bucket _for him_???”

You give a sheepish shrug.

Cronus shakes his head, astonished. “Well… guess that explains why I never see him walkin’ funny.” He swallows. “Well, today’s really your lucky day then chief. But uh… I’m gonna need some prep first I think.”

He walks over to the couch, bends over the armrest.

 _‘He’s…. He’s presenting himself. To me.’_ you realize.

He reaches back and pats one asscheek. “When I say, I need some prep, I mean get your ass over here and start eatin’ your boy the fuck out.”

‘ _Highblood pailing involves so much rowdy language,_ ’ you think as you get back down on your knees. And this… this is easier. Of all the things you’re reviewing in your lesson, finally something you know! Rufioh loves it when you do this to him, and you’ve gotten very good at it, if you do say so yourself. You extend your tongue, licking slow circles down into his opening.

And you can tell Cronus appreciates your aptitude for this task--he’s letting out little trills. When you put your hands on his cheeks, spreading him wider, you feel the shudder run through his body. You can’t stop picturing Rufioh, here now, bent over this couch. And there’s a swell inside your heart, and jam your tongue into his hole as STRONGLY as you can.

His hips shake and he presses back into your face.

This is good. You pour your tongue into him, gliding your tongue across his ridges and crevices.

Finally, he pulls away from you. “Hooooo hoooho hooooo….” he mutters, shakes his hands and arms. “I think, I’m uh,” he sucks in breath, “almost ready.” Points to the end-table. “There’s some lube in there. Top shelf.”

You nod and open up the drawer. It’s… ‘ _Wow!’_ you think. _‘Cronus collects some silicone art of his own!_ ’ You’ll have to ask him about that later. You spot the purple bottle of lubricant, pull it out.

He’s adjusting himself, changing his position as you spread some of the slickness out on your hand. You always like it when Rufioh warms it up for you, so you blow on the gelatinous substance, trying to bring it up to body temperature.

He lays, back against the couch, legs in the air, holding himself open. Holding himself open for _you._

Oh _horsefeathers_.

You know Rufioh would never debase himself like this. But goodness. Goodness, goodness, goodness.

You rub the slickness over your aching cock. ‘ _You are going to put yourself in a highblood,_ ’ you think, barely able to contain your excitement. You run your swollen cock between his cheeks, enjoying the feel of his flesh sliding against yours.

“Quit teasin’ and get that beast in me.”

You swallow. “Okay,” you say. ‘ _Okay_ ,’ you pray in your head. You line up against his entry. He’s so warm you could almost cry.

“Niiiiiiiice and eaaaaaasy.” He says, looking up at you. And you can tell. This is what he wants.

‘ _Fuck,_ ’ you think.

And you do. You don’t know how you’re able to contain yourself, but you so badly don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want to mess this up like so much other stuff.

He’s squirming underneath of you, gritting his teeth and.. It’s not going in. You push again, and he yelps.

You pull back.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you blubber.

“No no, it’s okay chief. I just... need some more lube.”

You grab it, squeeze half the tube into your hand. You slide it over his opening, slide it over yourself. You grease up like you are going to play chase the oinkbeast.

You push your hips forward, slow and steady, into his flesh. And slowly, every so slowly, he parts.

His eyes bulge, body tenses like he’s been struck with electricity.

The feel of hot tightness around you is staggering. You look down, and… he’s in pain. You freeze. “Let me… know… how to proceed?” You ask.

A quake runs through his body, shaking his shoulders. He grits his teeth, breathes through them like he’s trying to filter bad air. “Just… one SEC” his voice rises higher.

‘ _He’s hurting,_ ’ you panic. “No, this isn’t--”

He wraps his legs around your hips, wincing, locking himself to you. “JUST-- don’t…. Move!” he repeats.

You become a statue--a lake on a quiet day. No ripples, no wake. But your eyes keep moving, surveying his body. The way his skin glistens in the light. The almost translucent hairs on his stomach. His cock. His cock! Oh… ‘ _how is he possibly…_ ’ you think. You reach down and take it in your hand like Rufioh does to you when you pail.

His legs squeeze around your hips, ankles and feet interlocking, demanding carnal motion from you.

And slowly, you slide deeper into him, deeper into warmth. Quicksand. How good it feels to drown in him.

Little earthquakes flutter through your body when you hilt. You start to milk him to the beat of your heart.

He looks up at you, mouth agape, speechless. A mirror, you return the gaze.

His arms fly up and wrap around the back of your neck. He pulls himself up (and pulls you down). And…

You disappear into a kiss made of fireworks. You can feel his heartbeat around you. _Inside of you_. Boundaries of bodies don’t make sense. Everything is porous.

He’s… bucking. You should move. That’s a sign that it’s okay to move. You do so, but slowly, backing yourself out just an inch at a time. But, oh FIDDLEFUCK he’s squeezing around you, and you feel so goddamn plump inside him.

And, _fuck_ , he’s just staring into your eyes now with those big violet eyes and sweat is beading out across his forehead and the way the couch is just barely holding on and you you can feel your toes curling and

Your eyes flare, “Oh!, OH!” you say into his face desperately hopeful that he can see what’s happening because you can’t figure out what words mean anymore.

The space between his lips… the arc: what it does, not quite a cry, not quite a moan, not quite a whisper.

Tectonic plates shift inside you and you spill, feeling every seismic pulse rip through your nethers. Apex. Your hips drive forward under no control of your own, burying your cum inside him. And then the downhill run. Waning… waning…. still inside.

You slow down your strokes.

He shoots you a glance. “No… no please don’t stop. Just..” He moans and you feel the pulsating deep inside him.

‘ _He’s going to come again,_ ’ you realize, astonished. Still plump, you plant yourself as deep inside him, as you can. .

There’s throbbing. Throbbing in your hands, then a warm sticky slick. You look up at his face.

He’s crosseyed and painless.

When his surge ebbs, you slowly, carefully, slide yourself out. As you back the last bit of your cock out, you give him another glance.

He’s not on this planet.

A wet - _pop_ \- and your seed is running out of him, dripping down on to the floor. And between hitched breath, you realize you’re probably ruining his carpet.

“That…” he stumbles in his words, looking back at you. He gives you a drunken thumbs up. “You should… just do that.”

You feel warm. So warm now. So happy.

Thanks to one CRONUS AMPORA, you know exactly how to SAVE your RELATIONSHIP.

 -------------------------

 

**Author's Note:**

> i wonder how this worked out for Rufioh....


End file.
